


Absalom

by aeoleus



Series: The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Stay Alive (reprise), it's quiet uptown, philip hamilton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh my son, my son! Would God I had died for you, o, my son."</p><p> (I enjoy pain and suffering, so here's a oneshot set not long after Philip's death, in the Hamilton family garden.) Enjoy! (Or, y'know, don't. It's Act 2. No happiness. Only suffering and pain.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absalom

**Common lore has it that after that fateful duel between Philip Hamilton and George Eaker in which Philip was mortally wounded, his parents lay on either side of their agonized son, helpless to his misery, until he died hours later. Alexander was especially affected by his eldest's passing, and fainted on the way to his funeral. He never fully recovered from his grief.**

* * *

 

The darkening sky harboured a warning of oncoming thunder, a welcome break from the stagnant humidity that hung in the air like an immovable mass. 

It didn't bode well for Eliza's husband, who had been sitting on a bench in their garden for the past four hours, as stationary as the summer heat.

"Alexander?" She stood in the doorway, crossing her arms. "Come inside. It's about to rain."  
Alexander didn't move from his spot on the bench, nor look at his wife. His glasses rested atop of untouched book.

"Alexander, come on."  Again, no response. Eliza sighed and pushed open the door, following the stone path to her husband. 

"It's about to rain." She repeated as she reached him. He didn't look up from his hunched position. His trembling hands held a small frame, a sketch of a handsome boy with mischievous eyes and a wry smile. Her stomach dropped and she took a breath to steady herself. Inside the house, her daughter was playing scales on the piano, singing along in her sweet, high voice. 

_Un, deux, troix.._

Alexander couldn't meet her eyes. Tears dripped from his chin, where they gathered from steady rivulets from his eyes. He took a quiet, shuddering breath.  
"He would have liked the new house, I think." Alexander's voice cracked. "Downtown was so much louder, he would have been able to study without distraction. He would have..." 

Thunder cracked above them, and Eliza could feel the cool rain beginning to dampen her dress, but it did nothing to quell the hot grief rising in her husband. Her eldest child, too intelligent for his own good (and knew it all too well), bursting with occasionally manic energy, hot tempered but overtly kind, was so identical to her well-meaning husband that many had begun calling Philip "Hamilton the Second".

Alexander bent further over, sobs silently racking his body. He had made himself sick last week after barely sleeping nor eating, and it showed in his already too skinny frame.

Eliza knelt down on the slickening stone and held her husband's face in her hands. He reached out for her, holding onto her wrists as the rain poured around them. She could barely see as hot tears clouded her vision. 

"Oh my son, my son," Alexander mumbled, "My son, if only we could trade places-" His voice rose on a crescendo of raw grief until he let out a guttural yell that tore into Eliza's soul. Since the funeral, he had barely spoken, and had barely cried, instead avoiding all contact with everyone. So used to hearing their father's constant stream of chatter, jokes, and easy debate, their children had fallen into an uncomfortable quiet as well. Their home had filled with an immovable, weighty silence.

"Philip..." Again, his voice cracked, and Alexander fell silent. Years, days, minutes had passed. The rain had slowed and left the broken couple soaked, hair stuck to their necks and clothing dripping, one kneeling on the cold stone and the other hanging from the edge of the bench, their foreheads pressed together. Eliza slowly rose. She pressed a kiss to her husband's temple, and he leaned into her. He returned the kiss to her hands, still within his, and he rose with her. Slowly, deliberately, they traveled the path back into the home with one empty bedroom and one missing place at the table


End file.
